


If a Violin String Could Ache

by rosexwald



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, I CAN'T STRESS ENOUGH HOW WRONG AND UGLY THIS IS, I HAVE NOTHING ON MY DEFENSE, M/M, MAYBE DON'T READ IT, Underage Sex, i'm so awful, implied dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosexwald/pseuds/rosexwald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shuu got depressed, everyone worry for him, and sometime along the lines, Mirumo went mad.<br/>How he copes with this pain of heart after basically losing his only son that used to be his pride? He copes in the most terrible way possible.</p><p>Why the fuck did I write it? I do not fucking know. Cleanse me, call a priest.<br/>Don't even read this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If a Violin String Could Ache

Kanae’s body aches from the uncomfortable position he is forced into, a hand pressing between his shoulderblades being a harsh reminder that he must stay like this. White sheet beneath him has a damp spot, fabric darkened where the boy’s humid breath hits it hotly. He breathes rapidly, heavily. His knees burn, rubbing against the mattress. 

He’s sweaty, violet hair clinging to his forehead, and when light breeze comes in through the barely open window, goosebumps blooms on his shoulders. His skin is all warmed up and pink, soft like a peach. Lovely flower, not even fully blossomed yet, smelling of youth, with this impossibly cute, faint fluff of hair between his legs.

Tears hang heavily from his eyelashes. It doesn’t hurt. Not anymore. He’s just tired. It always takes so long for his master to finish.

Yes, master Mirumo has a lot of stress to relieve. Kanae accepts the hand between his shoulderblades that presses him into the bed, as well as his thick, pulsing manhood that pushes inside him, and he lets him breathe obscenely against the back of his neck, as he _relaxes himself_.

At first the boy actually pitied him, wanted to make him feel better. But eventually, it just became his duty, one of many. During the day Kanae was caring for young master Shuu, and in the evening he was mending his father’s broken heart.

How did it start? Who knew. It just happened one night. Kanae didn’t question it. He couldn’t really imagine how painful this whole situation must have been for master Mirumo. Shuu was his only son, his heir, his pride. Whatever Kanae felt towards him, it couldn’t possibly compare to what his own father felt.

That was the boy’s way of explaining this, trying _somehow_ to understand, why…

Kanae was spending all of his time caring for young master Shuu, who lay in bed heavily depressed, seemingly not even aware of his surroundings. It was an unspoken rule, that Shuu was Kanae’s priority, so other servants were taking upon themselves all the other chores around the mansion.

But one evening, master Mirumo requested for Kanae to prepare his bath, and fresh sheets for him to sleep. And that night, in the master bedroom, Mirumo Tsukiyama shed helpless tears in front of his young servant; and then the boy shed his own, and they soaked into the pillow soundlessly, when master Mirumo pressed his face against it.

Since then, another unspoken rule was agreed in the household. Kanae was now caring not only for master Shuu’s broken body and mind, but also for his father’s broken heart. No parent should see their child suffer. Kanae knew. Or maybe… he just needed an explanation.

It always takes so long…

Kanae is so tired, his eyes half-lidded and heavy. His body sways slightly with the impact of each thrust, back and forth, back and forth…

He wonders what master Mirumo is thinking when they’re together. Is he thinking at all? Maybe it’s just a way for him to relieve the tension. Just an outlet. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

This isn’t true, and Kanae knows that. He just _tries_ to justify it. He owes this family so much, there is loyalty in him that tries so hard to make this right. This _madness_. Kanae is pretty sure master Mirumo lost a bit of his sanity long ago.

Or maybe… maybe he just likes to _pretend_. Maybe this is just a twisted game of his.

Kanae’s ass is sore, dull burning not resembling pain anymore, by now this is just… discomfort. Master Mirumo’s member is hot and fat, always leaking so much, and because of this smelling intensely. Musk and sweat.

And wine in his heavy breath.

Impatient grunt reaches Kanae’s ears, and he knows this is one of those nights. Usually master Mirumo at least tries to be decent. No matter how ridiculous it sounds, given the situation. But he offers Kanae the decency of no eye-contact, no words, no unnecessary touching. He doesn’t try to mock intimacy. _Usually_.

But there are those nights, sometimes, when this is not enough. When he just can’t get satisfied like this. Kanae knows this is the case this time when master Mirumo pulls out suddenly, leaving him stretched and empty; and the hand that was pressing against his back grips his shoulder, just above the elbow, and he pulls the young ghoul up, away from his little asylum in between sheets stained with his tears.

“Ride me.” short, whispered order. The mattress dips as master Mirumo lies down, his erected cock leaning against his stomach, heavy and thick. It’s slick with precome, spit, and a bit of Kanae’s blood.

Kanae climbs onto him, straddling his hips, and reaching to position the plump head of his cock against his entrance. With a faint hiss, he lowers himself down onto the thick member, it slides somehow with ease, but Kanae’s muscle tense nonetheless, clenching around it.

Mirumo places his palms on both sides of Kanae’s waist. His hands are large and strong, warm. Kanae starts to rock his hips, his legs are numb, but he is not complaining. There is no point.

He looks down, at master Mirumo’s toned stomach, and thick hairline below his navel. Even there, he’s getting grey. Can it be that misery and despair make his hair go white faster? He worries so much. Everybody worry about young master Shuu, but it must be the hardest for his father. He tries not to show it, he maintains somehow unreadable facade. Well… Kanae gets to see past the mask he wears in broad daylight.

Mirumo’s hand rises to comb through Kanae’s damp hair, pushing messy strands away from his face, and he cups his cheek. He forces him to look up. Kanae does, and he swallows, his chin trembles when he looks him in the eyes.

“Shuu-kun… you’re so handsome. Just like I remember you.”

Kanae’s stomach twists and flips. If he knew, he would never get his hair cut like this. But… master Shuu looked so lovely when they met for the first time. Kanae wanted to be more like him.

“Daddy misses you, Shuu-kun. Daddy loves you.”

“I love you too, daddy.” Kanae makes sure his voice comes out steady, and that he’s clearly heard. There is no place for him breaking down now, he has a role to play.

Master Mirumo’s hips thrust up into him, his hand on Kanae’s hip tightens in a painful grip, pulling him down onto his cock. It’s good, it got him excited. It won’t be long now.

Sometimes Kanae wonders if this makes him come faster because it turns him on, or… is it just so shameful that master Mirumo rushes his body to end this finally.

“Shuu-kun, you’re so good… so good for daddy. You have always been my pride.” The words are broken, feverish, more breathed out than spoken, vomited into the humid air from the very bottom of master Mirumo’s tired, old soul.

The most terrifying thing is that his eyes are clear and sane. Kanae sees the effort he must make, to haze his mind so much with endorphins and pheromones, that his servant’s features shift slightly, his vision gets clouded, and for a little moment, he gets his son back as he used to be.

In those moments, it feels as if master Shuu’s bedroom is a mausoleum, with just his body resting there, while his tortured spirit lingers above his father. Hovering lie, false promise that it can all go back to normal.

There is nothing normal about that.

“You make me feel good, daddy…” Kanae’s response is trained, always the same, the one master Mirumo wants and expects. “I’m alright daddy, I’m alright…”

Is this what master Mirumo needs? Not to feel helpless? To be able to… make things alright?

Kanae is too tired for such complicated questions. His lips part and he whimpers when master Mirumo’s broad palm wraps around his semi-limp cock. Kanae never knows why he does it. Does he want to compensate him somehow? It’s pointless, the boy never comes anyway when they’re together. It’s a duty, and they both know it.

“Shuu-kun…” His voice is desperate, and so are his movements. Hips twitching in erratic, rough thrusts.

“I love you, daddy.” Kanae repeats his line, he sounds empty, even though he tries to say it like he means it.

Either way, this time it’s enough. Master Mirumo’s back arches up from the bed, Kanae forgets himself and cries out weakly, thick semen filling him up. His thighs tighten around his master’s hips, eyes closing, and he lets his head hang forward, hair falling like a curtain over his face.

“Thank you, daddy.” The closing line of Kanae’s performance.

He waits until master Mirumo’s breath is calmer, and his touch leaves his body, those warm, strong hands resting against the bed limply. He is never asked to stay, to clean up. Perhaps master Mirumo feels shame and doesn’t want to humiliate him further. Perhaps he likes to lie in all this filth they made. Perhaps he just doesn’t care.

They don’t speak anymore, Kanae shifts on his knees, and climbs off the bed on trembling legs. His thighs are slick, master Mirumo’s release dripping down onto the carpet as Kanae gathers his clothes from the floor.

His staff uniform covers fingertip-shaped bruises that didn’t yet have chance to heal. Tomorrow his skin will be smooth and spotless again, and master Mirumo will decorate it with his mad desperation once again.

 


End file.
